The Orphan I Am Chronicles- 16

Aromas, something invisible to the eye yet so powerful. Most invoke an immediate response, some put you in a trance, a whiff and you are taken back days, weeks, months and even years when you first were exposed to that scent. The smell of breakfast almost certainly takes you back to your childhood, when most of your life was more simple, the love around you unconditional, a time when people still sat around the table, enjoying each others company while devouring the meal which took someone time to prepare, cook and present.Who would have known that the mere process of baking bread in the oven with a fresh pot of coffee brewing could be so irresistible?

Aromas, those that tell you instantly that you have entered a hospital, those that tell you instantly that you stand in the middle of a city zoo, those that tell you instantly that you are far from an urban environment and what you smell, is that of nature and all it offers. But this morning, in fact just now, a young woman near me wears a perfume which I do not recall the name, but I do know the scent, the way it opened my nostrils, the way my heart responded as she walked near me, images flashing through my mind, a pleasant daze, a light-headed feeling that takes me back to a single moment when I first met her, a chance encounter and then she was gone.

She stood equal my height, we were on a city bus with all its unpleasant aromas and crowded, yes fortunately crowded, we stood right up on each other, my arm grasping the rail above as the bus inched through the downtown traffic. Eye contact, a smile and I was so happy I had not forgotten to put on my deodorant that day. Her bravery in speaking first and my simple response, a nod of the head to agree then a comment about anything, anything to keep the conversation going.

It would be as seconds, minutes passed that the bus would thin out, seats would become available, as you did, I insisted on her taking it. Soon, I would be sitting beside her. Neither one of us admitting we had long missed our bus stop, we rode and talked, not about anything special, but everything. As I sat and ignored the fact I was very late for work, we agreed on breaking from the norm and going to the museum of fine arts and why not? It was just five minutes ahead.

I could not resist, I was under a spell, the lotion that softened her skin and that hint of that perfume she wore, it owned me, it made me forget the possible bitching out by my asshole boss, it made me forget about the stupid argument a girlfriend and I had the previous night. But it was not just her perfume, it was the young woman who wear it so well. Her mannerism, the way she spoke and most important the way she paid attention to what I said, as if every word was so important.But it was her being herself, no facade, just another person seeking change even if just for a day, a few moments.

It was this day that I found out so much about my own self, all because of a break in routine, all because of her. Because of her, I could never look at women the same way again. For me to try to explain it would take pages, many pages. Ah the complexities of the woman, that woman who for a few hours, shared herself with me, no not in any sexual way. But in a way that introduced me to true meaning companionship, if only a glimpse.

I never knew the name of the perfume she wore and I have no desire to ask the woman who sits near me now what the name is. But what is good enough, in fact perfect is that I am more than certain that she wears the same one that young woman wore back then, inspiring me enough to write this blog, share this relic of my past with you….The remainder of our time together, the tour of that fine arts museum? Far too much to write about now but will end with this, I never saw her again, unfortunately. But from that day I was exposed to the world of art and for that I will always be greatful…….pEaCe tone

~ by tonekinchloe on September 1, 2011.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


Exploring wise-craft and weirdness

Adventures of The Nude Writer

Living And Loving In My Naked Little World

Shannon A Thompson

Science Fiction and Fantasy Author

Beyond Compromise - الثَّوابِت

Resistance Until Liberation & Return

S. Laura Artworks

My art is the child of my imagination!



Jamie Krug

I am the luckiest woman, mom, and wife in the world. Or am I the unluckiest...? It really depends on the day.

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Art Attack

Discovering art in everything

Words of Margaux

Humor and Motivation for Writers and Other Dreamers

A Stairway To Fashion

imagination is the key


the impressions are are not to be taken literally

%d bloggers like this: